


Beast With Two Backs

by teasoni



Series: Of Coat-Tails and Kestrels [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cock Warming, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Face-Sitting, Foursome, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Gangbang, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, Knifeplay, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, Topping from the Bottom, Uniform Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-14 17:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19278214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasoni/pseuds/teasoni
Summary: pretty much just porn. what it says on the tin. theme + pairings vary between chapters.





	1. [Connor/Bethany] Under The Desk

**Author's Note:**

> cw: cunnilingus, handjobs, exhibitionism, praise kink

Santiago narrowed her eyes as Bethany pitched forwards and almost hit her head against the desk. “Are you all right?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion. Bethany swallowed the keen rising in her throat and hastily smoothed the hair back from her face, giving Connor’s head a warning squeeze with her thighs. She felt him smile against her and push in even closer, his grip firm around her calves.

“Quite all right, thank you.” Try as she might, Bethany could not quite keep the breathlessness from her voice, especially not when Connor used his tongue like  _ that  _ \- she pressed her hands to her face and prayed that Santiago didn’t realise what was happening.

“Liar.” Santiago’s features were sharpened; Bethany chuckled darkly in response, and pressed herself forwards against Connor’s face, crossing her knees behind his head and wrenching him forwards. So that’s how he wanted to play, was it?

Teeth grazed her, and her knee jerked up so violently that it caught loudly against the underside of the desk. She couldn’t help the flicker of pain that pinched her face.

“You can’t be serious,” Santiago exclaimed, thoroughly scandalized. “Is he  _ under  _ there?”

“He certainly is,” Bethany rasped, fixing Santiago with a smile that was, unbeknownst to her, equally unravelled as it was wicked. She felt Connor squirm with discomfort between her legs and shivered against the desperate movements of his mouth; her legs only constricted further, and his hands grasped at her thighs as he began to fight for air.

“I am disgusted,” Santiago spat. There was no anger in it; in fact, Bethany  _ knew _ she was barely holding back a bark of disbelieving laughter. “I need to go and wash my hands, excuse me.”

She made to turn, but Bethany clicked her tongue, stopping her. Santiago glared at the mischievous glint in Bethany’s expression. She could see her moving in her seat, rolling her hips against the mouth on her cunt with complete disregard for subtlety. “Is that the proper way to excuse yourself from your superiors?”

Her use of the plural was not lost on Santiago, whose glare became so sharp Bethany feared she might cut herself on it. But she loved making people squirm, and Santiago was  _ certainly  _ squirming.

Delivering one final rageful, suffering look, Santiago pressed a stiff smile and bowed deeply to Bethany, whose eyes never once left her. “Safety and peace, she-devil.”

She was gone before Bethany could apprehend her, the door slamming, and Bethany threw herself back in her chair, shoving away from the desk and releasing Connor from between her legs. He gasped deep lungfuls of air, coughing, his face flushed. But, oh, his pupils were blown wide and black, and he looked so terribly delicious on his knees with her juices dripping from his chin. Looking up at her. Adoring. The softness of such a thing made her burn.

“Oh,” she breathed when she glanced down at the tightness in his breeches. “Did that excite you? Being caught by Santiago?”

He turned his eyes away and swallowed.

Leaning forwards, Bethany hissed, “Look at me when I speak to you.” It was a test, of sorts; she wanted to see how he would react to her. And, just as she’d suspected, his attention leapt back to her once more, his breath coming rapidly through his nose. Her smile showed a glimmer of teeth, and she reached out, caressing his face very gently with her fingers. “Good boy.”

Only through sheer power of discipline did Connor keep himself together. Those words - the praise - tore through each nerve like wildfire across a parched plane. Her fingers, her eyes, all around him, consuming. He’d never been this aroused before in his life, and the prickle of shame that had spread throughout him at Santiago’s realisation excited him so thoroughly that he grew light-headed. Bethany’s thighs gripping him, suffocating him. The burn for air. The vulnerability, the humiliation of being in such a place; it all mounted heavier and heavier upon him, and it was all he could do not to bow beneath its weight.

She could pull him apart with a single tug of string if she chose to.

Each sense was deadened. He was overcome with a haze that hung over him like a summer fog, cloying and impossibly hot, choking him, rendering him useless. She made him feel useless.

“You  _ like  _ that, don’t you?” Her whisper cut wicked against the whorl of his ear. There was no effort to hide her delight, her wonder. She kissed him gently upon his cheek, so overwhelmingly tender, and he turned his face in search of her lips. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.” She kissed him so deeply he lost his breath. It was the last indulgence he was allowed.

She sat back and tapped her thigh. He crawled between her legs, humble as a monk thrown on his knees to pray, and smoothed his hands along the soft flesh on the insides of her legs. She shivered, canting her hips forwards a little, but he paused just before his mouth touched her and cast his eyes up in question. Bethany’s stomach pinched and shrivelled up in absolute, overwhelming, inexplicable  _ delight _ . She gave only the slightest of nods, watched his wet lips part, and threw her head back in pleasure when he began to lap at her with the flat of his tongue.

Her toes curled as she threw her feet against the edge of the desk, sliding forwards in her chair to such a degree that she almost lay upon her back with Connor’s hands tight around her thighs, his eyes closed and brow wrinkled with effort. Bethany could barely keep her eyes open for pleasure of seeing him like that; adoration crowded her heart more than it could bear, swelling, aching in her chest as if it would burst. Her fingertips skirted over his scalp, knotting in his hair and tugging just the tiniest bit.

He  _ moaned _ . She felt the timbre of it against her flesh. The slack press of his tongue. The wetness of his lips. His eyes did not open; he put himself to his task with everything he had, his own pleasure leeching off hers, and she gripped him tighter and tighter until he grit his teeth against the flare of pain.

“Sweet boy,  _ sweet boy _ ,” Bethany gasped out, her legs shaking, and there was such love in her voice that Connor nearly spent inside his breeches. Her hands held him to her, flesh quivering beneath his mouth, his nose buried in the very centre of headiness. He breathed her in, utterly consumed by her.

She shuddered and came with a shout; viscous fluids sluiced down his chin and he chased them with his tongue, cleaning her, but she did not stop flowing, even after she collapsed back against the chair limp as a corpse. Her chest rose and fell at a great speed but her eyes did not leave him, hooded though they were. He lay his cheek against her thigh, listening to her breathe as she carded a shaky hand through his hair.

“My dear, sweet Connor,” she whispered, hauling herself upright and leaning down to kiss him gently upon his mouth, tasting her own release upon it. He touched his tongue to the seam of her lips and she smiled. “I ought to take care of you,” she continued, her hand stroking lovingly down his neck. His entire body thrummed with the touch, leaning into it, aching for it. “To reward you for doing such a good job. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he rasped, eyes finally fluttering open to meet hers. His heart would not slow, and continued at a canter in his ribs. Each breath hurt to draw.

“Ask nicely, now.”

“Please.” That word in particular did not come easily to him. It never had. Connor did not  _ ask _ , nor did he  _ beg _ \- he was a man of action and force, and very little posed such an opposition that he ever needed to ask, let alone ask  _ nicely. _

But for Bethany Morgan, he would do anything.

“Oh, you  _ are  _ good.” Her kiss belied her heat. He could feel it in her, in her lips and the hands that grasped his face, the sharp turn of her possession making his head grow light. “Good, good boy.”

He keened against her mouth.

“Get up,” she whispered. “Lean against the desk.”

He did as she asked with no small difficulty - his legs were boneless and barely held his weight. His arms were not much better.

Bethany slid to the floor with just as little strength, propping herself back on her haunches and smoothing her hands along his thighs. The closer her hands moved to his groin the worse his knees shook beneath him, but just before her fingers could brush against the bulge there, they retreated. She murmured to him, her touch washing along him like waves, before she looked up at him and saw the frantic tension of his face and shoulders, the way he gripped the desk so tightly his knuckles grew pale. His rapid, shallow breath. He had never looked so wretched nor so glorious to her as he did in that moment.

“Poor thing,” she murmured to herself, guilt of the sweetest kind prickling at the back of her tongue.  _ Enough teasing. _ Without any further preamble, she unlaced his breeches and pulled them open, wrestling them down just enough to release him. His cock snapped against his hip, flushed and raw and weeping, swollen more than she’d ever seen it.

Connor panted openly, now, his breaths ragged, and they hitched with a hiss when Bethany pressed her lips to his hip, close but not quite close enough. He pitched his hips forwards before he could stop himself and was met with one of Bethany’s bell-peal laughs and the faint glimmer of pity in her smile. He  _ despised _ being pitied, but as her eyes looked up from below and she reached out to grasp the base of his cock with one hand, he found he didn't mind quite so much.

She continued to stroke him as she got to her feet and pressed herself along the front of his body. He was trapped between her and the desk, now, which cut uncomfortably into the backs of his thighs. But her  _ hand  _ \- oh, her hand was a blessed thing indeed, and he shifted his hips against it to glean as much friction as he could. She kissed along his jaw and his neck and beneath his ear, murmuring sweet nothings to him, nosing at his hair with tiny encouragements.

He spent embarrassingly fast. She was the only woman he’d ever been with, certainly, but this was not their first time - even so, they had never quite done it like  _ this _ , and the novelty was a force he hadn’t expected to contend with. He shuddered and came all over her hand with whispers of praise in his ear, pressing his forehead against her neck, the force so thunderous that he could make barely more than a pained grunt in response. His face flushed as he felt the laughter quiver in her throat. Ashamed.

“I love you,” she rasped. “So, so much.”

He could not speak. He felt raw, inside and out. But he did not need to speak - not when his kisses told her everything she needed to know.


	2. [Connor/Bethany] Bondage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: bondage, praise kink, edging, handjobs, dom/sub
> 
> set during book 2

“Good?”

The ropes burned and cut off his blood. He strained against them, hissing at the burn they brought with any movement. He gritted his teeth against the sensations, but he relished them all the same, and Bethany smiled against his shoulder.

“Good,” he grunted; forcing him to acknowledge her verbally was exquisite, especially since he found such shame in admitting his enjoyment. It made him flush with humiliation, but his body belied him, and Bethany knew it.

“You’re doing so well, my love.” She stroked his hair, down his neck, his chest. Feeling the muscles there, the way his breaths pushed and pulled at his ribs. She was still in her dress from their trip into town, which only help to amplify his own nakedness, making him feel wretched and _wrong_ and humiliated. Vulnerable, just as she knew he liked. And so she continued to touch him, to make him fully aware of his nudity and the immobility he was faced with. She supported his lolling head against her shoulder and kissed his neck. The night was silent outside the house, the air inside still and fragrant, the light soft. Forgiving. It fooled him, almost, into security.

When Bethany took him in hand he shivered and let out a sound that was more of a gasp than a groan. She pecked his cheek from her position behind him, giving him a few firm strokes, her thumb playing across the head. His heart thundered, muscles jumping, his hips rising from where he sat on his heels. She clucked her tongue at that; the sound of her disappointment spurred him to burn even hotter as shame clawed its way around inside his body.

This position - with Connor sat on his heels and Bethany bracketing him from behind - held a tender place in her heart. The warm weight of his body was cradled against her, and she could see down over his shoulder, granted a view that was surely not dissimilar from what he saw when he looked upon himself. From this angle she could see every ripple of muscle, each flutter of his belly, and she could kiss his face and his neck and his hair without restraint. She could touch him intimately as she _whispered_ , and it were always the whispers that undid him.

“I like you like this,” she decided in a satisfied little murmur that Connor strained to hear. “I could gut you like a fish and there’d be nothing you could do about it.” To punctuate herself she drew the sharp edge of her nail across his belly, just over his navel, her breath hot against his neck. The idea revolted him, yet his cock bobbed between his legs, betraying him just as it always did. “Oh, but of course you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Being at the mercy of my knife, helpless as a fawn.”

 _No!_ his mind roared. His instinct fought tooth and nail against the betrayal of his body - everything he’d been taught over the course of his life appealed against it. But here, beneath the gentle, firm caresses of his wife’s hands, he could not muster the strength to fight it. The thought inspired danger, it inspired fear, and yet he surrendered to it eventually. He always did.

Turning his head, his lips searched for hers. Instead they found her neck, which was nearly as good, and he began smothering kisses against it between his ragged breaths.

“Use your _words_ , Ratonhnhaké:ton.” Her tone was as stern as her grip, and she pinched the inside of his thigh hard enough to drag a hiss from between his teeth.

She loved making him _admit_ as much as she loved making him _submit_. A curious combination of curious things.

“I would,” he huffed, the words forge-hot in his mouth, scalding it, sickening, traitorous. But her breath was so sweet when she laughed against his cheek, and twisted the hand around his cock just tightly enough to send pain lancing up his spine.

“You would _what_?”

“I would like it.”

Bethany purred against him and rewarded him with a bout of fervent strokes to his straining groin. Each time he jerked his hips to meet her thrusts the ropes dragged and chafed, and his skin was pinched; already his hands and feet were going numb from how tightly he was bound.

When they had first settled on the bed Bethany had said, soft in his ear, _tell me when._ Then she had bound him loosely, eyes inquiring, and he had said nothing. She tightened; he said nothing. She did not stop until the ropes grated against his skin and he _knew_ he would lose feeling like this, and only then did he grunt, cock swelling, and murmured _enough_. The desire to be bound so tightly that he bled choked him to his very core.

One day he would admit to it. It was an inevitable certainty. But not yet - not now.

“Such a good boy for me,” she breathed, kissing him again. “I’m so proud of you, my love, lasting like this without complaining.”

Connor choked on his own sobbing breath. His cock strained unbearably, her touch driving him positively mad with the need for release, yet it was not enough. It was like a sense she possessed, knowing just when to take her hand away and leave his hips stuttering in mid-air, knowing just when to touch him again, keeping him so dangerously close to the edge that he could not think, could barely see; she dragged him along that edge for what felt like an eternity, robbing him of his relief just as it came into his reach. The frustration threatened to drive him to insanity, he was sure of it. Oh, but imagine - Connor, a Master Assassin, spearhead of the Colonial Brotherhood, made insane by a woman’s hand around his cock.

Bethany hushed him gently, stroking the sweat-slick hair back from his face. He shivered in her arms as violently as one taken by fever, his breaths by now so rapid he barely breathed at all, and his head grew misty with the pain, both from the ropes and from the immense pressure in his muscles. “Not much longer, my darling. Hold on just a little more. Can you do that for me?”

He could not even wheeze out a response. He felt like he would die if he tried. His entire body was slick with sweat and the ropes chafed so badly that they rubbed his skin almost completely raw; he could feel every sensation at once, howling and tearing at him like a pack of dogs. Bethany was his only constant.

“Talk to me, Connor,” she urged him. He tried to shake his head, but ended up merely throwing his face into the crook of her neck, huffing her scent as though he could spend himself just from the smell of her. When he did not respond, Bethany gripped the base of his cock and squeezed until he yelped; the sound was hoarse and wrecked. It did not sound like Connor at all.

“ _Talk to me_ ,” she repeated, this time less kindly. “I will not say it again.”

“Please,” he gasped. His mouth was so clumsy it could barely form the word. “Please -,”

She was silent. Waiting. Connor licked dry lips and struggled to collect his wits enough to string more than a few words together.

“Please let me spend,” he whispered, flushing hot with humiliation at such a request. He hated when she spoke so sternly, or with such disappointment - he wanted her to stoke him once more with her praise and her affections. “Please, Miss Morgan -,”

For the very first time that evening, Connor became aware of the heated flush of Bethany’s own desire. It was parasitic in its nature, when they did this, hanging from the back of his own immense pleasure. Because the very act of driving him so wild with pleasure brought her a pleasure of its own, and she basked in it, growing warm and wet ever so slowly. Her breaths were heavy and sticky against his ear, her kisses growing rapid, her lips insistent upon his face. He was drunk on it.

“Since you’ve been so well-behaved for me, and since you asked so _very_ nicely, I think you deserve a reward.” Bethany pressed a quick kiss to his temple before moving on the bed behind him. The movement threw him off, the touch of her clothes against his body almost painful, and she soothed him gently as she lay him back against her chest. The rigid collar of her bodice lay at the base of his skull, the tops of her breasts pillowing his head, and beneath them he could feel the rush of her heartbeat. Her free hand slipped across his forehead, holding him against her, her other hand working agonizingly slowly at his cock. Beyond dignity, he chased her touch with his hips, whining when she moved out of his reach. “Do you think you deserve a reward, Ratonhnhaké:ton?”

Hearing her say his name in that raspy, nigh-masculine voice of hers almost undid him. He brushed the very fringe of climax but, as usual, pulled miserably short. “Yes, please, _yes,_ ” he begged her, his voice pitifully weak.

“Tell me,” she whispered directly against his ear, catching the shell of it between her teeth and tugging, biting down perhaps a little harder than necessary until a groan punched from his throat.

“Please reward me,” he pleaded; with each word he felt a little better, a little stronger. Following her orders always brought about that effect. The final abandonment of dignity - it brought him freedom. “Please, I have been good, I -,”

“Oh, my love, my sweet, gorgeous boy, my Ratonhnhaké:ton, love of my life -,” her tone grew fevered, her kisses more numerous and more insistent against his face, and his heart threw itself against his ribs with both frustration and adoration. She held her fist, by now slickened with sweat and the clear fluid that dripped from him, still at the head of his cock, tightening her fingers. “Take whatever you wish, my heart.”

It was a final hurdle: one final humiliation. He looked up at her through bleary eyes, the hand on his forehead slipping down to cup his chin, and with love in her eyes she leaned down and kissed him upon his mouth, her lips hot and wet. His mouth parted beneath them; the silent call of a baby bird, starving, _begging_. He pitched his hips up, and though his ankles were bound to his thighs, the powerful muscles of his body gave him the force he needed to fuck into her fist. She gasped against his mouth, eyes snapping open to watch, riveted, as his hips set a furious pace.

Every muscle in his body burned. His shoulders, from keeping himself upright; his back and his arms, from where they were bound; his stomach and sides, from the constant tension and the need to maintain balance; his legs, from where he strained so desperately for release. The ropes had rubbed his skin so raw that he swore he would bleed from them, and his hands and feet were swollen with blood, numb from the constriction of his bondage. They would cause him great pain, later, as Bethany gently rubbed feeling back into them, and the promise of it did little more than make his cock throb even more painfully.

This time Bethany did not take her hand away. She watched, enraptured, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he fucked her fist as ferociously as he would her own warm body. Her cunt ached between her legs when she imagined that it _was_ her. _Later,_ she thought to calm herself. _There will be time for that later._ For now, this was all about Connor. He was the only one that mattered. This entire endeavor required her attention be unfailing, after all.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured to him, kissing him all across his sweating face, eyes rooted to his cock all the while, delighting in the way his eyes closed and he pressed himself back against her in wild abandon as he rutted into her hand. His movements began to grow clumsy, his breathing gaining voice, turning to stifled grunts as he surged towards his release. “Good boy, just like that - oh, Ratonhnhaké:ton, come for me, come for me!”

He came all over her hand with a thunderous roar - it shook the very core of his body, the pressure mounting so high that he feared he might explode with it, like some great beast fighting to burst from the very deepest reaches of his body. Everything he had been holding in rushed from him, his body thrashing desperately in its bonds, his mind losing all control over it. His spend was thick and dripped from Bethany’s clenched fist. She stroked him through his climax, hard and fast and wet and slippery, unable to swallow her cry of delight as rapture overtook the man in her arms.

Finally - after what surely must have been hours held at the peak of pleasure - Connor’s spirit began its lazy descent back into his body. He fell limp against her, as breathless and sweat-slicked as he would be had he just run from Concord all the way to the homestead. Bethany soothed him gently as he dropped, unable to resist giving him a few more strokes, painful now against his overstimulated flesh.

He settled, and his breathing slowed, and only then did the pain truly emerge.

Bethany was already working at the knots that bound him. The chafing that had brought him such pleasure before now served only as a discomfort, but she was quick with her fingers and relieved him of them before they could become properly painful. Connor slid, boneless, from her body when she slipped away, careful to keep her soiled hand free of her dress. He lay there and breathed - it was all he could focus on. His body felt apart from the world, floating endlessly, weightless; he was vaguely aware of Bethany moving about the room, or perhaps even passing in and out of it, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“My darling,” came her whisper at his ear, and Connor turned his head slightly at the touch of her hand to his hair. “How do you feel?”

Words did not come; Connor sighed, letting his eyes fall closed from where they had gazed upon her face, his mouth too heavy to raise into a smile. But she knew, of course she did. She always knew.

It was always a rather strange thing - the sensation he felt after such a performance was unlike anything he’d ever felt before in his life, and the first time it had happened he was convinced he’d fallen ill. Bethany, however, was not unfamiliar with such things, and explained to him the lightness he found after such duress, and in time he came to understand it a little better. He came to enjoy it.

After changing into a plain cotton shift, Bethany settled back beside him on the bed and began to apply salve to his hurts. The salve was mild and cool and relieved the faint burning of his flesh; Bethany began to hum, the sound distant in his haze. He didn’t know how long she spent soothing his inflamed skin, or working the knots from his muscles, but so long as her hands were on him he felt protected. He felt safe. Loved.

She lay down gently beside him in the cool darkness of the night, the lamps extinguished and the windows opened to admit the night air, stroking her fingers up and down his spine. Only then did he find strength to speak.

“Thank you,” he murmured; his throat was raw, rendering his voice little louder than a hoarse whisper. She kissed him very softly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my love,” she replied, and he sensed her smile. “I enjoy it just as much as you do.”

“I love you.” The confession was sighed against her lips, as bare as she had ever heard it, and her heart swelled in her throat with affection.

“I love you too, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she whispered in response. “More than I could ever express.”

 


	3. [Connor/Bethany] O Captain, My Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: light roleplay, cunnilingus, blowjobs, uniform kink

They had come to treat voyages to Martha’s Vineyard as a sort of holiday. They weren’t, of course - there were errands to run, contacts to meet, and repairs to be made to the Aquila. Martha’s Vineyard had some of the best outfitters on the coast for frigates like the  _ Aquila _ , which was something Connor learned a long, long time ago. No shipbuilder or gunnery officer in Boston or New York could match the skill of those in Martha’s Vineyard; it was a well-kept secret that often put the  _ Aquila  _ at a distinct advantage when faced with naval battles.

Bethany had first boarded the  _ Aquila _ in the spring of 1786. The winter lingered into late March, but the seas had calmed enough that Connor offered to take her on a voyage to Martha’s Vineyard to get the ship fitted for new guns. She’d been hesitant at first, but her love of the open sea was profound, and the thought of spending a few weeks exploring the coast with Connor seemed like just the sort of break she needed.

Faulkner had not been keen on it. Women were bad luck on ships, he said, but he could not convince Connor otherwise. And so he sulked as she boarded, embittered by the smile she gave him. But Bethany Morgan was a difficult woman to dislike, even for a man like Robert Faulkner, and by the time they passed by Boston she’d grown on him like the barnacles grew on the hull of his ship. She knew her way around well enough for him to know that she’d spent time on ships before, and she did not bother him, spending most of her time either in Connor’s cabin or up on the prow, lazing in the sun. Every now and again, too, she would clamber up the main mast to the crows’ nest, where she would sit for hours gazing out over the endless expanse of ocean to the east.

But the most marvelous thing about being on board the  _ Aquila  _ was seeing Connor in his captain’s uniform. She’d never seen him in it before, and he cut a devastatingly handsome figure in it, especially when he stood at the wheel or called to the sailors. He would sense her eyes lingering on him; whenever he rose to meet her gaze she would smile at him from across the deck. He taught her to steer the ship just as Faulkner had once taught him, grinning as her face grew bright with delight at the push of the ship against the wind. The weather was clear, and though the wind bit cold over the sea, the sun was strong now that the worst of winter had passed and the thaw had set in.

The evenings in Connor’s cabin were the sweetest. Away from the sailors and Faulkner’s sharp eye, they could lie together in peace and quiet and touch each other however they pleased. She would sing to him, repeating whatever shanty had wiled its way into her head that day, combing her fingers through his hair and re-twining the braid against his cheek. She could kiss him senseless, which she often did, releasing from his shoulders the weight of his captaincy.

Some nights, however, he would sit at his desk and pore over maps and ledgers until his eyes began to cross with strain. Bethany, displeased at being ignored, wandered over to him and slid her hands down over his shoulders, chasing the lines of gleaming brass buttons down his chest.

“Not now,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes and attempting to shake her off. But Bethany did not let him, instead locking her arms around his neck and kissing the highest point of his cheek, plucking at the collar of his shirt as he tried - in vain - to ignore her.

“You’ve been there for hours,” she said in his ear; her tone was husky and low, just as he loved it, and he struggled to swallow down a groan as her fingers slipped beneath the neckline of his shirt. “Surely it can wait until morning.”

The moment she felt him relent, Bethany slid into his lap, hoisting her nightgown up around her hips to reveal the creamy lengths of her thighs, which now straddled his own hips in the chair. He put his hands to them instinctively, squeezing them tightly and drawing a smile to Bethany’s lips.

“Oh captain, my captain,” she breathed against his lips, fisting one hand in his hair and coaxing his head back, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You know, every time I see you up there at the helm, I grow wet. You command this ship with such grace. I find myself quite smitten with you, Captain.”

Connor did groan, that time; Bethany smothered kisses along his neck, her tongue pressed to the pulse point just below his jaw. There was something wild in her eyes when she drew back to look at him, and he gripped her hips as he surged forwards against her, pressing their wet, open mouths together. Bethany was trapped between him and the desk, and threw her arms around Connor’s shoulders to drag him closer; she was vaguely aware of one of his hands leaving her hips, and with a great sweep he displaced all the maps and documents from his desk. Compases, sextons, and his (thankfully sealed) bottle of ink clattered noisily to the floor, and Bethany threw herself back over the desk in their place, gasping as Connor pushed himself over her and between her legs, which she wrapped tightly about him.

“Captain,” she rasped, and Connor pulled back enough to appraise her lying there, flushed and pliant underneath him, her nightgown rumpled and her loose hair splayed beneath her head. And her eyes - oh, her eyes were full of awe as she looked up at him, entranced by the sight of him so dashing in his uniform; her fingers grasped the lapels of his coat. “Fuck me, Captain -,”

With a vicious snarl, Connor pitched forwards and smothered her mouth with his own, tearing an elated little moan from her throat. His work lay forgotten, sprawled beneath the woman he had spread over his desk, and she keened and spread her legs when he shoved at her knees. Already his cock strained against his breeches, and he rutted the bulge against the apex of her legs, pushing her nightgown up to her navel to reveal the dark thatch of curls beneath it. She gasped at the sensation, rocking her hips against him, her hands jumping from his coat to the edge of the desk over her head. Her body twisted beautifully, spine arching, hips tilting, and she caught her lip between her teeth as she ground herself down against his cock. Connor snarled as pleasure lanced through his belly; the mere thought of pushing deep inside her warm, slick body made his breeches feel even tighter.

“Don’t tease me so,” Bethany bit out, rising shakily onto her elbows as Connor pulled back from her. Instead of working open his laces, however, he collapsed back into his chair and spread his thighs. His face was flushed with colour but his uniform, while a little rumpled, remained exquisite. Bethany frowned at him.

“Captains do not follow orders,” he reminded her, his voice soft yet stern. Bethany licked her lips. “They  _ give  _ them.”

Slowly, Bethany slid off the desk and onto her knees, crawling between his legs and levering herself between them with her hands on his knees. He allowed her to push them apart, slouching and half-smiling down at her as she practically tore at his breeches; her eyes flickered up to him and shone when she saw the smugness of his face.

“So, then, Captain,” she whispered. “What would you have me do?”

“Service me,” Connor replied, unhelpfully. A frown flitted across her brow, but was gone the moment she pulled him free of his breeches. It was hunger - her eyes were as wild as those of a starving woman, and seeing her in a state of such disarray stoked his desire tenfold. 

As Bethany’s hot mouth closed around him, Connor tipped his head back and sighed. One of his hands went to her head, where he speared his fingers through her hair and gently guided her mouth up and down his length, his belly fluttering each time the head of his cock butted against her tonsils or teeth. Her eyes, though mostly downturned, sometimes flickered up to look at him, dewy with tears as she attempted to swallow him down her throat. She’d always had trouble with taking him into her throat - he was simply too big. But to see her choke on his girth never failed to rally his lust.

When she finally pulled off for air, saliva roped thick between her lips and the glistening head of his cock; it was wet with her spit, now, slippery as she worked her fist up and down its length, fixing him with an expression so wan that he  _ ached _ . He slid his hand from her hair to cup her cheek, and she leaned into it, eyes heavily lidded as he pushed his thumb past her lips. She sucked on it with the tiniest sigh of a moan.

“Was that all right?” she asked breathlessly when his finger slipped from her lips; her face was hopeful, the mask of a virgin, and he couldn’t help but give her an exasperated little chuckle in response.

“Yes. But now you must service me in another way.” He beckoned her to rise, which she did eagerly, lifting her nightgown and sitting down squarely in his lap, her thighs bracketing his waist. His erection was caught flush between them, right below the press of her pubic hair; he could  _ feel  _ how wet she was. He hadn’t even touched her yet.

“Anything for you, Captain,” she sighed, kissing him soundly and moving her body along his. Her hands explored his shoulders and chest, admiring the uniform he wore, and he let her undo the first few buttons of his shirt. “After all, you were kind enough to share your cabin with me.”

He did laugh, then - he still sometimes found these games as ridiculous as they were enjoyable. It was difficult to forget that Bethany was  _ Bethany _ , or to remain in the role he had been assigned. He loved her too much and could not see her as anything other than what she was, no matter how magical such performances were.

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he replied, and Bethany grinned at him in that terribly salacious way, causing his cock to pulse hotly against her thigh. “It… it was my pleasure.”

Mock outrage, hands slapping against his lapels. “Don’t tell me your hospitality was because you planned on ravishing me?!”

Oh, they could not stop giggling, and for a moment the spell was broken and they pressed chaste, loving kisses upon each other, and all there was between them was utter adoration. But then Bethany reached back to the desk and took up his hat, placing it upon his head. “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispered, rolling her hips and making him hiss. “You are terribly handsome, after all.”

“Then show me.” His voice was so riddled with lust that it came from him as a rasp, breathless and hot as the head of his cock slipped along her folds. “Thank me for allowing you onto my ship.”

Bethany shivered. Raising herself up a little, she reached between them to push his cock up against her until it nudged against her swollen cunt; she held his eyes for a long moment, and then sunk down upon his length with a moan that came from the very depths of her chest. Connor grunted at the heat of her, the slick, plush wetness of her insides, gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles began to ache. Bethany’s eyes fluttered when he sat fully seated inside her, her fingers shaking against the buttons of his coat.

“Thank you, Captain,” she gasped, bracing her hands behind her on his knees and using the leverage to raise her hips, pulling herself almost entirely off his length before sinking back down again. She set a slow, rolling pace, Connor’s hands finally releasing their grip on the chair to push her nightgown even higher, sliding his hands over the smooth plane of her belly. “For such…  _ endless  _ hospitality…”

She rode him like a whore. Not that Connor could particularly compare, but he’d heard and seen enough to imagine, and the utter obscenity of her rolling hips had his face and neck flushing with heat. Her voice, too, was not concealed, and rose from her in great gasping moans as she tilted her hips just right, his cock stroking hard against the sensitive spot just behind her pubis. He pushed her nightgown up even further, and Bethany raised her arms above her head to remove it entirely, riding his lap now entirely naked. Her lack of abashedness - the way she looked him directly in the eye, goading, knowing - was far more erotic than it should have been. Connor felt stifled in his uniform, sweating copiously beneath it even despite the cool bite of the air, and yet the surge of power he felt at being in command of Bethany’s naked, writhing body was unlike anything he could achieve if he undressed.

He gripped her waist in his great, dark hands, snapping his hips up to meet her on the downward stroke. The catch of breath was delicious; Bethany almost fell from his lap, her breasts heaving, and Connor couldn’t help reaching up to knead them in his hands, rolling her coral-pink nipples, now flushed and swollen, between his fingers. She keened and pressed her chest further into his touch.

“Good,” he breathed, low and dishevelled, leaning forward to mouth along her sternum and lick up the sweat that had beaded there. His hat made things clumsy, so Bethany knocked it from his head. It fell somewhere out of sight. Neither of them cared enough to check. Bethany clutched him to her as he rutted up into her body, the buckles and buttons of his coat pinching her skin.

“Take me, fuck me - !” Bethany’s pleas were arrested with a squeal as she was, quite abruptly, vaulted into the air; her back hit the desk not a moment later, Connor hunched enormous and powerful between her legs, and without a single second of respite he gripped her knees, pushed them back to her chest, and began to fuck her with the ferocity of a man driven mad.

Bethany  _ howled _ .

There were tears in her eyes, now, driven forth from pleasure and the sweet, sweet strain as she struggled to accommodate him; there had been no time to work her loose, and while her body could take him, his vigorous pace made her burn, and it was only thanks to the cascade of wetness drenching her cunt that it didn’t border on painful. And to be spread open before a man like Connor, who still wore all the finery of a captain,  _ using  _ her like she was a slattern… it made her body tighten with desire.

“Captain!” she cried, and Connor pitched forward over her, ramming her into the desk as if his life counted on it; she was surrounded by the musk of him, the smell of the sea still clinging to his clothes, the sweat-soaked linen of his shirt. His breaths rasped in her ear and his hands gripped her waist so tightly that she could feel the bruises forming under his fingers. “Shall you… shall you send me out to face your sailors full of your seed?” Her words hitched with each thrust, spoken wet and hot against his ear. “T-to face… Mr Faulkner? Do you think he - he would know that you filled m-my belly with your spend?”

It drove him wild. He rutted against her so violently that the desk jerked across the floor, and Bethany let out a shriek of pleasure as his cock pounded against her cervix. Her fingers had already wormed their way between them, rubbing furiously over herself as she hastened to bring herself to climax; Connor reached his first, groaning and gasping for breath as he released himself as deep inside her as he could. He came and came and came - so much of himself flooded her cunt that it fought to escape around him, dripping down her heated flesh. She released but a few seconds later, her body clenching and shivering around Connor’s, her arms and legs clutching at him as she bucked her flushed, sweaty body against him.

Finally Bethany collapsed with a heaving sigh against the desk, marked and mottled from their lovemaking; Connor softened enough to slip free of her, and his seed dribbled down her thigh. He fell back into his chair and watched it. He had no energy to do otherwise.

Their ragged breathing evened, and only then did they realise how unbearably hot the cabin had become; Connor was the first to move, tucking himself back into his breeches and shucking off his coat, which he slung around Bethany’s shoulders as she struggled to sit upright. She was thoroughly-fucked and felt as messy as she surely looked. Connor’s coat was heavy and smelled so strongly of him, and it was soft from wear, so Bethany wrapped herself up init and shuffled to his bed.

Connor pulled open a few more buttons of his shirt in search of coolness; eventually he moved to the cabin door and opened it to the night. His entire body flushed with embarrassment when he saw half the deck turn to look at him, undoubtedly having heard the ruckus from behind it. Every sailor’s face shone with the knowledge, some even with jealousy. Hooting and wolf-whistles came from somewhere across deck, followed shortly by Faulkner’s shouting, and Connor ducked back inside, face burning. He found Bethany sprawled over his bed, naked aside from his coat, watching him with a catlike smile. He went to her and collapsed soundly on the bed.


	4. [Connor/Bethany, Bethany/Mob] Of Sailors and Fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: voice kink, fantasies, exhibitionism, gangbang, voyeurism, sloppy seconds, cunnilingus
> 
> a continuation of the previous chapter

Bethany regarded him with that particular brand of bliss that she only ever did following their lovemaking. Connor collapsed on the bed beside her, jamming his face into the coverlets with what she realized to be embarrassment. She glanced toward the open door, bemused.

“Are you embarrassed that they heard us?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

“Yes,” he groaned, stifled by the sheets into which he was currently smothering his face. “And… no.”

Intrigued, Bethany rolled him over and set about unbuttoning his shirt. “No? What do you mean by that?”

The grimace he gave her was a reluctant one, but she teased it out of him all the same. She always did.

“I… thought of something.”

“What?” Eyes bright, far too curious. Connor’s shame writhed in his gut.

“Of you… no. It is shameful and dirty.”

Bethany grinned and reached down to tug at his breeches. “I  _ love _ shameful and dirty.”

God, she would be the death of him, he was sure of it - he let her shuck off his breeches, leaving him now naked, and together they settled into bed and turned down the lamp. He wanted to tell her what he’d thought upon viewing the sailors, but the sheer depravity of it made him wince. He was afraid. What would she think of him? To see her recoil in disgust would break his heart. But… he looked into her face through the half-darkness and found it just as kind as open as it always was, receptive and curious. She drew her finger along his cheek and over his lips.

“You know you can tell me, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

He closed his eyes. He could. He  _ could _ . But… he couldn’t.

“The way they looked at me, there was - I saw jealousy, envy - I thought… I thought of you out there.”

“Of me? You wanted to make love on deck? I’m sure we could if -,”

“No,” he interrupted her, voice tight. “Not… me. You would be there, but I would be - I would be watching. As you were -,” He choked on an ashamed little noise and fell silent.

“As I was what?” she cajoled, her fingers playing down his chest, lips at his jaw. “Tell me, my love.”

Connor had never quite understood Bethany Morgan’s charisma, nor her ability to persuade and tease confessions from even the stoutest of hearts. Connor had trained for years to withstand interrogations of the most insidious kind, and yet with Bethany he was as useless as a child tempted with sugar.

“As they - as you -,”

It clicked. Bethany rolled herself on top of him, rising onto her hands. “As they  _ used _ me?”

Breathless, Connor nodded, and Bethy let out a long, strangled moan. “Oh, Connor, that’s -,”

“Degrading and -,”

“No! No, stop that. I… oh.” She rolled against him and he knew immediately that disgust was  _ certainly _ not what she was feeling. “It… you won’t tell me about it, so I’ll guess. Am I bound?”

“Yes.” His voice came out as little more than a croak. His lips were dry as a bone.

“To the mast? Or over a crate?”

Truthfully, Connor hadn’t thought that far. “I don’t… know. Anything.”

“And you would  _ watch _ me, would you? As your men used me? You wouldn’t be jealous?”

He thought for a moment, unable to deny the prickle of jealousy that spread beneath his skin. “...I would be. Maddeningly jealous. I would - I would want to kill every man who touched you.” He craned his neck to kiss her, feeling a puff of laughter across his lips.

“I love you,” she murmured. “It is not bad to entertain the thought, my darling. It does not mean you must indulge it. It’s called a  _ fantasy  _ for a reason.”

The word tasted magical on his tongue. Tension eased from his body and he raised himself onto his elbows to look at her properly, his face still blotchy with shame. He glowered at her, brow crinkled and terribly grave, and Bethany raised her feet to rest them upon his shoulders, either side of his neck. She smiled.

“You mustn’t think there is anything wretched about such things,” she urged. “Most people have fantasies of things they would never do in real life  _ all the time _ . It is human nature to explore the horrific and the impossible in the safety of the mental sphere.”

“You… do this?”

She laughed, then. “Me?! Oh, you sweet thing - I have done it since I was a little girl. I was like you once, you know, thinking it was filthy and disgusting, but eventually I came to accept it just as others do.” She tilted her head a fraction to the side, like a bird, curious. “You never thought of such things as a young man?”

Connor shook his head. Was it really so normal to think of such things? Such  _ abhorrent _ and morally corrupt things? He could barely believe it; nobody he ever knew had confessed to such thoughts - but then again, he had not been close to anybody to this degree before, at least not since Kanen’to:kon, and even then they had not talked of such matters. It was never in Connor’s realm of interests. Perhaps… perhaps it was a thing white people did. He couldn’t be sure.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.” Her eyes were kind, and her lack of judgement eased his discomfort. He crawled to lie between her legs, his head cushioned upon her belly, and she began to stroke her fingers through his hair, as was her habit. They lay like that in the quiet for many minutes, listening to the sounds of the deck wafting through the open door, ignoring the curious side-glances slipped inside by the sailors that passed. The bed was out of view of the door, and so they could not be seen, and nobody had the gall to interrupt.

“You truly do not think less of me?” he asked, voice a murmur.

“Goodness, no, I could never, least of all for something like that.” Bethany shifted beneath him, her thighs soft against his armpits, and he wrapped his arms further around her waist. “I would indulge you, you know, in these things - provided they are within reason.”

The offer was not made without hesitation, but it was made nonetheless, and Connor jerked up in shock, a whisper of anger chasing him. Bethany watched him, guarded, breath baited.

“I would never subject you to such horrors,” he growled. “It would be selfish and evil.”

“And it would feel very,  _ very _ good.” Her words came to in a whisper pressed to the corner of his mouth, her hands ghosting along his naked sides. “I would not object, you know. I do not quicken easily, if at all, so there would be little risk. Besides,” she shrugged. “Your sailors are good men. Mr Faulkner is not one to suffer fools or brigands, so I doubt they would hurt me beyond what I can take.” He shuddered when her hands dipped low along his belly, nails scraping over his hip. She leaned in to kiss his cheek chastely, belying her wickedness. “And you know how much I can take.”

Once more, awful thoughts of her bound to the brace of the main mast filled his mind, naked in the face of the biting sea wind, half-mad with lust as the sailors had their way with her; he shuddered, hating how his cock reacted so wildly, and Bethany laughed softly against his cheek.

“I would ask you to tell me more of this idea,” she murmured, her kisses peppered along his cheeks and his lips. “But I feel you won’t. So I will make you an offer, which you are free to refuse if you wish.” Teeth scraped along his lower lip and Connor moaned despite himself. “I would like to talk you through this. Right here, in privacy, where nobody shall hear or see us.”

Connor paused. Bristled. Pulled away enough to meet her eye and see that she was dead serious. Seeing the apprehension on his face, however, Bethany’s expression softened and she reached up to cradle his face in her hands, speaking to him as earnestly as she ever had. “My love, I will never force you to do anything. You know that. If such a thing discomforts you, then we can sleep, and I will not mention it again.”

It would be the sensible thing to do, of course - but the fantasy lingered in the back of his mind, as alluring and delicious as molasses. His conscious edged towards it, whispering such seductive things, longing, reaching -

“All right,” he whispered, choking on the words. He swallowed, the lump in his throat bordering on painful.

“Words,” she reminded him with an edge of sternness.

“Tell me of it.” He surged forwards, kissing her hard upon her mouth, and she gasped deliciously loudly at the suddenness. Her arms lept around his neck and dragged him closer, settling his broad body between her legs and accepting his tongue gladly when he offered it.

She grinned when he parted from her again, settling back down to lay his head upon her chest. He could hear her heartbeat gallop beneath his ear. Her fingers were back in his hair, stroking along his neck and bare shoulders.

“I could wander out there right now, you know,” she muttered to him. “Naked as a babe, still dripping with your spend. You could tie me down, tell your men that I am free to use for their pleasure, as hard and for as long as they like.” Her hands trailed gently down the length of his body, pressing against his upper thighs. The rhythmic stroking of her hands never failed to rouse him, and as he closed his eyes he pictured it: Bethany wandering naked and supple amongst the sailors, who had gone weeks without the attentions of a woman, her belly still bloated with his seed. His cock twitched eagerly, the image more vivid than his dreams, seared into the front of his mind. He had already laid claim to her; everyone would see that she was  _ his _ .

He imagined her roped to the mast, bent over at the waist, legs bound and spread obscenely wide to reveal the wet flush of her cunt - would those hungry, leering eyes make her swell with excitement? Would they make her drip with slick? Would she keen in that lovely way of hers and push her hips back, begging? Connor knew how insatiable her lusts could be, and had the flagging suspicion that she could handle such a situation. He imagined standing there, hand upon her sweating back, and telling the sailors just-as-you-please that Bethany’s body was available for their use - no better than a piece of meat thrown to the dogs, or a common street whore. He imagined the starving, wet look she would give him, subservient, eager. They were such rare things to see in her, let alone for her to display. And the men would, perhaps, stare at him in surprise, wondering if it was some sort of a test; Faulkner would reprimand him, maybe, furious at him for allowing such a thing. But Connor was their captain, and they were loyal to a fault, many having worked aboard the  _ Aquila  _ since its rebirth. They trusted him. And the lusts of abstinent men were, he knew, a force to be reckoned with.

Connor lay silent against her for a long while, eyes closed, his breathing steadily growing heavier. Ah, yes, he was imagining it, chasing her words with images of his own, and she ached to see into his mind. Even the knowledge that he was  _ imagining  _ her in a position like that was enough to make heat curl in her belly, little licks of it, and she scratched her nails over his scalp.

“They would hesitate, of course. Especially Mr Faulkner, who considers himself to be better than that. But they wouldn’t be able to resist for long, I don’t think, especially not when I am so  _ eager _ to take them. Who do you think would go first? Chambers, maybe? He’s so terribly young, you know, coltish - those sorts can never control themselves for long. Or perhaps Barnes… he’s a lustful sort, always goes straight to the brothels when we pull into port.” She could not help the shiver that gripped her. “He’s very heavy-handed. I bet he’s got a thick cock, too.”

Hearing Bethany talk of another man’s endowment - of  _ wanting  _ it - should have made Connor burn with jealousy. But… it didn’t. It only made him harder, his own cock trapped uncomfortably under his body. Instinctively, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss between her breasts.

“Would you like to see me spread open around Barnes’s cock, my darling? See him forcing your seed even deeper inside me? Fucking my wet, aching cunt already made sloppy with your spend?” Her legs drew tight against his sides and he nodded hopelessly, jerking his hips against the bed. The door still stood open, and Bethany’s eyes flickered to it occasionally. “Perhaps he would stuff his fingers in first. Open me even further up. Or perhaps he would put his mouth on me, sucking out what you left behind, fucking me with his tongue -,”

Connor groaned and rutted his hips. Christ, it was horrific - the thought of Bethany crying out in pleasure as Barnes pushed his cock into her. Barnes was an enormous, portly man who had an affinity for ale and women; he was not young, perhaps of an age with Faulkner, and Bethany was right in calling him heavy-handed: his hands were huge and thick, with veins crawling beneath the skin, callused and worn from a life on the sea. Connor had never wondered after his endowment, but now he did, he supposed it would be much like the rest of him. Large, broad, and unrelenting. Perhaps even of a size with Connor. He  _ wanted  _ to hear Bethany shriek at the size of it, at the unrelenting and utterly selfish pace of Barnes’s hips as he fucked her. He wanted to see her quake in pleasure.

“And when he pulls out I will  _ gape _ , open and tender. But he will not spend inside me, because you will not let them - nobody shall spend inside me save for  _ you _ . And you shall be watching from the helm like a hawk to make sure there is no trouble, watching as he finishes across my back. Watch as I lie there writhing with need. My pleasure is secondary to them, after all.” She kissed him, her mouth impossibly warm. Wet. Her breath quickened. “Should you like that? Watching as I am used by man after man, my skin growing sticky with their seed? The wetness between my legs, my looseness? My wailing as I am taken over and over, pushed and pushed until I am driven mad with pleasure?”

Connor groaned again, his teeth grazing across her breasts, taking her nipples into his mouth. He was unforgivably hard, now, and his guilt had abated to nearly nothing; Bethany’s eagerness was evident in her voice and the slickness between her legs. She moaned a little louder than she should have when he kissed down her belly and between her legs, spreading them open and hooking her legs over his shoulders, lathing his tongue along her inner thighs. He imagined her weeping with pleasure and the need for release, her face swollen and blotchy with tears; the way she would  _ look  _ at him, dewy and unseeing, begging him to fuck her like only  _ he _ could. He imagined his men rutting over her like dogs over a bitch, again and again and again, her skin raw from the ropes and the press of their hands. The obscene sounds swallowed by the endless ocean: smacking skin against skin, the grunts of the men, Bethany’s high, keening cries. Connor pushed his mouth and nose against her cunt and was rewarded with a shudder from above.

“Keep going,” he growled, lifting his wet lips from her only long enough to force those two words out before he resumed working his mouth between her legs. Bethany let out a displeased little grunt, but did as he asked.

“Even… even Mr Faulkner could have a turn,” she began, her voice hard with the effort of keeping it even. Connor had learned how to best bring her to completion with his mouth, and knew just which nooks and rises to tongue at to make her writhe. “He would… he would be terribly apologetic, I know he would be, saying ‘sorry’ over and over and over, even as he - oh, God, Connor - a-as he fucked me… it must be so long since he’s fucked a woman, imagine - imagine his viciousness, his desperation…” By that point, she could no longer speak, and threw her head back against the pillows, clutching at Connor’s head as he pushed his tongue inside her, feeling the wetness of his own spend.

They continued like that for a few minutes, Bethany’s keening growing so loud that she had to muffle herself with a pillow. The door remained open, just as Connor had left it, but it was only when one of Bethany’s arms knocked a bottle from the table beside the bed and sent it smashing to the floor that they were interrupted.

A boy, surely no older than Connor had been when he’d first boarded the  _ Aquila _ , burst through the open doorway, eyes wild with fright. “Captain, sir - !”

Bethany fixed her bleary eyes upon the boy, who seemed frozen in place, faced quite suddenly with the sight of Connor between a woman’s legs; as realization slowly rose, however, his face flushed deeply, and he began to stammer. Connor, furious and a little embarrassed at having been caught, rose and turned with the ferocity of a bear woken from sleep.

“Get out!” he barked, and the boy was so frightened by Connor’s display of anger that he turned and fled without a single word. Connor turned back to Bethany, who met his gaze with a smug little smirk. “You knew it was open. You did that on purpose.”

“ _ You _ were the one who opened it. And left it open.” Reaching up, she grasped him by his hair and pulled him up her body to kiss him, wet and hot and messy, suching obscenely on his tongue. “I want you to fuck me,” she breathed. “Fuck me like I have serviced all your men, captain. Show me that I am yours.”

With a snarl, Connor seized her hips and flipped her over onto her belly. Yanking her backside up into the air and shoved her legs apart. She was drenched, partly from his saliva and partly from her own wetness. She arched her spine eagerly and pushed back her hips, feeling his hardness against her thigh, already slick in preparation. Connor’s vision was bleary, his mind caught between fantasy and reality, a limbo into which he had never properly wandered before. It was… stressful, yet surprisingly pleasant. Thoughts of Bethany sharing her body with the sailors, of coming undone completely, driven mad with lust and pleasure, made his lust warp into some sort of terrible creature, volcanic in its heat and pressure, swelling until it consumed him completely. He shoved himself inside her so roughly that a hoarse cry was punched from her throat, her hands clutching at the wall behind the bed. He did not pause, nor give her time to adjust, but instead set a bruising pace between her legs and gripped her waist so tightly she was (very vaguely) afraid he might break a bone.

“Inside me,” she rasped, arching her back so she could look at him, head tipped back; he reached out and grasped her throat, wrenching her back onto her knees so he could hold her burning, sweating body against his, forearm pressed hard against her trachea, his other hand slipping down to work furiously at the site of their meeting.

“Say it,” he rasped in her ear, his hips snapping, the power behind each thrust so immense that she could barely breathe. Her mind thrashed with pleasure.

“I am yours, all yours, only yours,” she wailed, clutching at the arm across her throat, head growing light as her release began its rapid descent. She shuddered violently, clinging to him, and cried out his name so loudly that there was no doubting they’d been heard. He fucked her in long, powerful strokes all throughout, and only when her body relaxed like warm honey against him did he finally grunt, biting hard into her shoulder as he filled her.

“Marvelous,” Bethany cooed, slipping from his arms and down onto the bed, where he soon followed. They lay there, sweating and breathing hard, until Bethany eventually grew chilled and rose, groaning. Naked as the day she was born, she went to the door of the cabin and was met with a chorus of cheers and whistles; with a flourishing bow she bid the sailors goodnight and shut the door.

Connor watched her, stunned. “Did you just…?”

“Yes,” she replied blithely, depositing herself back down beside him. “I certainly did.”

He stared at her, perplexed, but Bethany only smiled and kissed him.


End file.
